


Indulgences

by andveryginger



Series: Bucking Convention [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, The Mrs Bradley Mysteries (TV)
Genre: Class Differences, Crossover, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Secret Relationship, There's Always the One Crazy Aunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 14:09:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17427383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andveryginger/pseuds/andveryginger
Summary: George figures he can’t disappear from the British Isle without telling his daughter, Cecily, that he’s traveling to Australia... with Mrs Bradley.





	Indulgences

**Author's Note:**

> Incorporates a bit from the Mrs. Bradley episode, “The Worsted Viper,” and is influenced heavily by "A Good Team," by zircon. It can [still be found over on DW.](https://thisiszircon.dreamwidth.org/41110.html)
> 
> This little snippet hasn’t been beta’d, so any mistakes you see are my own. 
> 
> Originally posted almost three years ago on Tumblr, and one of the first snippets I wrote as part of the crossover between Mrs Bradley and Miss Fisher. Headcanons that the illustrious Mrs B is the sister of Henry Fisher and thus, Phryne's aunt.

* * *

 

George Moody felt the appraising stare of his daughter, Cecily Quincy, eyes narrowed over the rim of her tea cup. He glanced left, then right, then looked to her directly. “What?”

There was a long pause before she responded and George would have sworn he saw gears turning behind the brown irises. “Something different about you today,” she said. Her voice, he noted, had taken on more of the Cornish lilt since her wedding. It sounded even more odd when combined with her northern Yorkshire roots.

“Different?” he echoed. Inwardly, a rush of panic threatened; externally, he offered a frown. “Same old me.”

An uncertain smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “Dunno what it is, but you’re not, are you?”

“Yes, well…” George allowed his response to trail off. He rather suspected he knew what the change was and it was directly related to the reason he was struggling with the task at hand. “I’m actually glad you came. We… need to talk, and the telephone seemed so impersonal.”

Cecily frowned, her hand coming to rest over his. “You _are_ all right, aren’t you, Dad?”

“Oh, yes, love, I’m fine.” Licking his lips, he looked down, absently realigning his flatware on the pristine tablecloth. He swallowed. Idly, he wondered how he could stare down the barrel of a shotgun, yet be so nervous about speaking to his daughter. “It’s just – well, Mrs Bradley is leaving for Australia next week and… she’s asked me to accompany her.”

The freckled redhead slowly lowered her tea cup. “Mrs Bradley? Australia?” She regarded her father with a furrowed brow. “How long is she staying?”

“A few months,” he answered. “She wants to stay until the remodel at the townhouse is finished.”

At this, Cecily nodded, as though accepting his response as a reasonable one. And it was, considering the mobility that money and station could provide. But silence stretched between them and George pursed his lips. Since Adela – _Mrs Bradley_ , he reminded himself – purchased the tickets some weeks ago, he had struggled with how to tell his daughter. Traveling as companion to an employer, of course, wasn’t out of the norm – when that employer was of the same gender. Adela’s – _Mrs Bradley’s_ – jaunts across the British Isle with only her trusted chauffeur as companion created quite a few ripples already among the society types. Her insistence that George stay where she stayed frequently fanned the ripples into full waves. The resulting rumors had been just that – rumors… until they weren’t.

Traveling together, swapping stories, solving mysteries – they’d shared so much of themselves that friendship was inevitable. But the affection _had_ been something of a surprise, especially given their individual marital histories. Recognizing the symptoms early on, both had struggled to maintain their boundaries; both knew such a struggle was an exercise in futility.

When the facade between them finally crumbled, it still caught them off-guard. He’d offered her comfort, extending a hand beyond propriety to ease her grief over a lost friend. The shared vulnerability of the moment shattered Pandora’s Box. Now, it seemed they fled London under any premise; they craved the intimacy as much as they craved each other.

George doubted Australia would be any different.

Looking to his daughter, he noted the deep crease in her brow, corners of her mouth turned down. He understood why. He had raised her to a life of honest service, respecting the silent divide between employer and employee, while assisting to the best of her ability. She also knew her father – always treading the line, but ever cognizant of the divide. She loved him and, he hoped, respected him. Thus, the implications of his accompanying Mrs Bradley – implications Cecily well understood – and his acceptance of them confused her.

“Back before your wedding,” George began at length, “you asked me if there was anyone special or if I had my hands full with Mrs Bradley.”

His daughter nodded. “You were very cross that day.”

“I was jealous.” A rosy tint crept across his cheeks. “It seemed everywhere I looked, Adela – _Mrs Bradley_ – was laughing and… batting her lashes at Inspector Christmas. ‘Course, I’d no right to be jealous; there was no understanding between us then.”

Cecily visibly swallowed at the mention of the inspector’s name, but remained focused on the discussion. “And there is now?”

“For now,” George replied. He grimaced, seeing an expression of surprise flicker across Cecily’s features. “It’s not exactly _conventional_ , I know. But we’ve both tried conventional and it didn’t take for either of us.”

She nodded. “But she’s so glamorous and so full of… _ideas_. Wasn’t that what set you and Mum apart? How can you –?”

“I’ve grown up, Cecily; gone to war and come home. Both change your perspective on things.” George shrugged a shoulder. “You learn what’s really important.”

“So…Mum?”

“If I’d met her after the war, it might have been different,” he conceded. He paused, swallowing back the anxiety that threatened to choke his voice. “But I can’t regret it. It gave me you; changed my life.”

Cecily sat for a long moment, gaze flickering over his features as she silently considered him. “Do you love her?” she asked finally.

George fought the urge to squirm under her scrutiny, considering her question. He grimaced. “I… can’t say. But I’m not exactly in the habit of indulging for the sake of indulging, Cecily.”

Her hand came to rest over his once again. “Just remember you get what you settle for,” she said, echoing his words to her, spoken only months earlier. A taut smile twitched at the corners of her lips. “I don’t want to see you get hurt again, Dad.”

Pursing his own lips, he nodded. He was under no illusions: He was going to get hurt. Even those in the happiest, easiest of relationships found themselves at odds. The clandestine nature of his affair with Adela would increase the possibility of conflict, ten fold. Whether or not their relationship would survive the conflict remained to be seen. Still, he said none of this to Cecily. Instead, he said merely, “Fair enough.”


End file.
